No Matter Where In the Sky
by LeighKelly
Summary: "I used to wish on every shooting star for a future with you, and now that future is here, and I know it's forever." Following their first argument after moving in together, Brittany and Santana take a trip outside of the city to look at the stars, and remember just how important they'll always be to one another. Post Season 5. One Shot.


**So, this is sort of canon post-5x19/5x20, going with Santana **_**not **_**actually leaving Brittany in Greece (because **_**we **_**all know she _didn't _anyway), but with Britt tying up all her loose ends at MIT before the two of them headed off on tour with Mercedes. This picks up about seven months after they go to Reno, and the rest basically explains itself. Also, big thanks to Clouds for reading over some of this for me...since sometimes I can't think when I have feelings!**

* * *

It's hard for me to believe that the six month long Park and Bark American Mall Tour has been over for nearly five weeks, and for four of those, Santana and I have been living together in a real, actual apartment. Of course, we've been essentially living together for over a year, between Lesbos, Hawaii, and twenty-three other cities, but sleeping in beds that didn't belong to us, living out of suitcases and eating room service never seemed like real life, I'd always felt like it was a dream that I could wake up from in any moment. But the very second the landlord handed her the keys to a tiny four-hundred-square foot studio, and the two of us had sprinted hand in hand to the hardware store on the corner of Rivington and Clinton to make copies, that's the moment I felt like it _was_ real, like with both of our names on a lease and a singular queen sized bed that we'd purchased together pushed up under our one window, I could stop worrying about waking up. After two months of discussing location options (and more than a few lists and charts that Santana had created- she didn't like to admit to her dorky side, but I've always found her intense attention to detail so adorable), we'd finally settled on Manhattan, on the East Village, specifically. Even though the apartment is sort of obscenely expensive, especially for the size, and we have to walk up five flights of stairs (exhausting after long days in the dance studio for me, and the recording studio for her), it's a three minute walk to the subway, and more importantly, it's _ours._

After almost a month reprieve from work so everyone who'd been part of the tour could recover and situate themselves for the next step, it's late on the Friday afternoon of my first week back in the dance studio, and I've basically spent the better part of the past five days working with the others on the same series of steps for Santana and Mercedes' first music video repeatedly. I expect to be exhausted when I head home from work, but even after climbing the Everest of stairs, I'm really not, I'm still buzzing with adrenaline from dancing, and I'm excited, because I know the package I'd asked my mother to send is supposed to be delivered today, just in time for the big night I've secretly planned tomorrow. After showering quickly, I wait patiently for UPS to come, hoping that there isn't some unforeseen circumstance, like a freak tornado or something between Lima and New York that delays it's arrival, but when the intercom buzzes, I grin to myself, because it's _here, _and I run to press the button beside the door to let the delivery guy into the building.

It takes longer than I'd expected for the box to make it up the stairs, and when it does, I immediately feel bad for the man who carried it, panting and out of breath, the package much bigger and heavier than I'd remembered, and I apologize profusely for his struggle before pushing a bottle of water and a twenty dollar bill into his hands. Once the door is closed again, I do a little celebration dance all by myself, and tear through the tape, liberating the forty-pound instrument from cardboard and bubble wrap. I dust off my hands on my sweatpants, proud of myself for getting it out on my own, but when I look around the room and try to determine where to squeeze it, I frown a little, because nearly every available inch of floor space is covered with _something_ (the apartment really_ is_ so small that we use our kitchen cabinets to store Santana's records and my assorted knickknacks, and we eat takeout off the ironing board, because there's no place to put a table), and I know that I can't just leave it in the center of the room as it is. Biting my lip, I end up pushing it into the small corner by the bathroom, and even though it sort of blocks the door from opening all the way, I figure it's fine, because really, who needs to do that anyway?

Content with what I've accomplished, I shove the wrappings into the garbage chute in the hallway and settle on the couch with a bag of chips (trying to avoid Lord Tubbington's attempts to steal them from me), anxiously waiting for Santana to get home from _her _long day in the studio, barely able to contain my bubbling exuberance about revealing what I have planned to her. When I hear her at the door, I can tell by the way she shoves the key into the lock that she's tired (it _is _well after eight already, and she left for work more than twelve hours earlier), and probably in a bad mood, so I let her have her space as she kicks off her shoes and drops her bag at her feet. I smile softly at her as she runs her hand through her hair, and when she comes to kiss me hello, I can feel the tightness in the muscles of her face.

"Hey baby." She mumbles, and I run my thumb over her cheek, hoping to loosen the tension there.

"Hi. How was recording today?"

"Ugh, long, obnoxious, it's so much different than being on tour, having to listen to DeShawn and Mercedes argue, and for every single thing we do to take a thousand times longer than it needs to. I just want to take a shower, order dinner, and pretend neither of them exist until Monday."

"We can definitely make that happen." I squeeze her shoulders and kiss the tip of her nose. "I'll call Chipotle, you go turn the shower on as hot as it goes, and we'll relax all night."

"I love you." She sighs, and I repeat the words back to her.

She walks across the room to where our dresser is, and throws sweatpants and a t-shirt on the bed before turning back to the bathroom. When she goes to open the door, she notices what's there, and when she places a hand on her hip and spins around to look at me, I'm actually surprised at the annoyance on her face.

"Brittany." I hear her straining not to snap, and I feel my face fall. Even if she's tired and aggravated about her long day, I want her to be as excited as I am about what I have planned. "When did your telescope get here? And _why _did your telescope get here?"

"Today. I asked my mom to send it to me." I answer cautiously, because even though she _rarely _uses her frustrated tone with me, I know it well, and I have no desire to be at the receiving end of one of her tirades.

"Okay, but _why?__"_

"Because-"

"This thing is _huge, _Britt, and totally unnecessary here." She cuts me off with a huff before I can speak, her eyes scanning the cluttered space we live in. "We can't even fit a coffee table, which we'd actually _use, _we have bins stacked up with all of our off-season clothes, and now we have a _telescope? _What are we going to do with it? Lug it up to the roof to spy on the people in the building across the alley? Use it as a coat rack? Why wouldn't you just keep it in Lima?"

"Wow, Santana." I bite back, annoyed at her ranting and the fact that she didn't even give me a chance to explain before she started, and frustrated that the one thing that was keeping _my_ exhaustion from setting in after _my _long day is rapidly fading. "You're being sort of mean."

"I'm not being _mean, _I'm being practical. _This_-" She looks at the instrument with disdain before turning back to me. "Is not practical in our postage stamp sized apartment."

"And your three hundred pairs of shoes _are? _And yelling at your girlfriend instead of listening to her for three seconds is?" I snap a little bit. If _she _is going to say something is unnecessary, I feel like I kind of have every right to do the same to her.

"I do _not _have three hundred pairs of shoes. I have like _maybe _thirty, and they definitely don't take up as much space as _this_. And I'm not yelling, do I sound like I'm yelling?"

"Yeah, you do actually. And so you know, it's _not _practical when you haven't even worn half of them since high school!"

"It's not even the same, anyway!" She knows there's truth in what I've said, so she doesn't even attempt to come back at it.

"Why, because _you _want them and _I_ want this?" I raise an eyebrow in challenge, and cross my arms over my chest.

"No! Because I'll wear every single pair of shoes in our closet before you _ever _use that telescope."

"You know what, Santana?" I grit my teeth and glare at her. "You're right."

"Thank you-"

"Obviously this apartment is too small for a lot of things." I cut her off, since it's apparent she didn't catch the sarcasm in my voice, and maybe she's right, if she's going to be nasty to me, I'm actually _not _going to use it. "And it's definitely too small for both of us to be in when you're being pushy and rude, and doing that thing that drives me _crazy_ where you think you're right, even though you don't even _listen _to the other person. I'm going for a walk, and then maybe when you decide you want to listen to _me_ instead of the sound of your own voice, I'll be back."

"Brittany." I hear her soften, but I'm already pulling on my shoes (one of _five _pairs _I_ have in the closet) and I know that I just need some time to myself. "Wait. I don't want to argue with you."

"Yeah, well I didn't want to argue with you either." I take a deep breath, and feel the beginning of tears pricking at the back of my eyes. "But it's too late for that now."

Santana tries to protest further, and I almost feel bad as I grab my keys and cellphone and make my way down the stairs. I'm relieved when she doesn't follow me, and when I step out into the crisp fall night, I inhale deeply, trying to get my head together. It's the first argument we've had since moving in together, and it's _definitely _not the kind of first I've ever looked forward to experiencing. I find myself cursing under my breath, and by the time I reach Grand Street, I figure out exactly why I'm so pissed. I'm angry because even if it hadn't been her intention, Santana made me feel stupid (and even in my irritated state, I _know _it really wasn't, because no matter what, she would _never _try to do that, and it would actually make her sick to know that she had), I'm angry that she didn't even let me answer her questions before snapping, and I'm angry that she took her bad day out on me.

More than angry though, I'm upset, because after I'd read about Venus being in the sky a week back, I'd wanted nothing more than to get in a car, drive somewhere with Santana, and really _see _the planet named after the Roman goddess of love, sex and female charm. Even if it's really cheesy, I hadn't cared, because stargazing has always been a _thing _between the two of us, something that Santana actually _loves, _just as much as I do, secretly, only revealing those bits and pieces of her inner dork to me, which somehow makes it all the more special. It dates back to nights when we were _just friends _lying on the ground in Memorial Park Cemetery back home, making up our own constellations, through my (first) senior year, where we'd whispered declarations of eternal devotion during a Valentine's Day meteor shower, to the night we'd seen _Monoceros _for the first time, lying together on a lounge chair on the beach in Hawaii. I'd wanted to bring a little of that magic to New York, because it's my home now, _Santana _is my home, and even though I'm _positive _that this whole argument, if it can even really be called that, is unnecessarily dramatic, it stings because it sort of feels like my latest attempt at romance has been tainted.

As I circle back around on East Broadway, I start to cry, because I don't want to be angry or upset, I just want to be lying on the couch with my girlfriend, I want to kiss her lips, and fall asleep with her. But I'm new to this grown up argument thing, we _both _are, and I don't know what exactly I'm supposed to go home and say. So, instead of racing back, I call and cry to my mom, because it seems like the thing to do, and I can almost hear her knowing smile through the phone. _You won__'__t always be in your sweet honeymoon phase, _she tells me (which, admittedly, makes me really sad at first, because I'd kind of hoped we'd be in that phase until we were _at least _ninety), and then reassures me that I don't need to cry, because adults in love fight, adults in love make up, and that just makes the relationship all the more real. Eventually, I finally stop whimpering helplessly, and feel significantly better when I hang up the phone. It's time to go home, I know, time to go home, time to talk to Santana, what I probably should have done originally, instead of walking out in the middle of a fight, and when I make my way up the stairs, I'm surprised to see all the lights out, except for the one small lamp (thoughtfully left on) by the door.

Looking over at our bed, I see Santana lying there, phone clutched in her hand, knees curled up to her chest, and eyes closed, Lord Tubbington lying flush against her body, like he knew she actually wanted him close to her for once. When I move closer, my heart feels tight against my ribs as I look beyond the dark hair that's fallen across her face, and I notice her cheeks, damp, red, and swollen from crying. The last ounce of anger dissipates from my body as I hardly breathe, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Every part of me aches to brush the hair away from her face, to kiss her pursed lips, to wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, but even if I'm not sure of the post-argument protocol for cohabitants, I'm sure I can't do that just yet, not until we talk, which obviously won't happen now until the morning. With a sigh, I settle for covering her tenderly with the comforter, and after getting myself ready, I crawl up onto my side of the bed, lying flat on my back, and staring up at the ceiling, internally debating whether or not to wake her up and put an end to the conflict.

It's late before I finally fall asleep, after eventually deciding to just leave Santana be, and even when I do, my rest is mostly fitful. In the morning, I wake up to the smell of coffee, and I groan tiredly as I push myself up to sit. When I look over at the couch, my eyes lock with Santana's darting brown irises, and she sucks her lips into her mouth, just as unsure about what comes next as I am. Slowly, I rise up, and can't help but feel warm inside as I notice my mug sitting next to the coffee pot, placed there by Santana, obviously, and just waiting for me to use it. Slowly, I pour the hot liquid inside, and take a big sip before carrying it over to where Santana sits jiggling her legs, and setting it beside her mug on the ironing board, I turn my body so I'm facing her, and our knees are just about brushing, but not quite.

"Hi." She casts her eyes down, but then quickly flicks them back up to look at mine. Her hands press against her thighs, and her fingers twitch anxiously.

"Hey. How did you sleep?" I ask her, my cheeks reddening, because I'm _really_ not sure how to even start.

"Pretty shitty. I tried to wait up until you got home, but I guess my body had other ideas. Do you think we can talk now? I promise I'll listen to you."

"Yeah, we can definitely talk." I nod, and watch relief spread across her features. "I'm sorry that I walked out last night when you asked me to wait."

"I got really scared." She barely whispers, and I see her eyes start to glisten with more tears. "I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you and your telescope, and then I thought maybe you were going to leave me for acting like such a bitch. I'm sorry that I acted like that, I swear."

"Oh, honey." I feel my throat tighten, because I would _never _leave her, and I hate that it's something she'll always fear, not because of _me, _but because it's just who she is, she just always dreads the worst. Sometimes, when she gets like that, I just wish I could wrap her up, keep her safe from her own mind, since I'm sure that as beautiful as it is, it's also pretty scary in there. "You know I won't, _ever. _I love you so much. I just needed some space, and that's definitely not something we have in here."

"No, we definitely don't." She chances a small laugh, and I feel myself smiling. "I hate arguing with you."

"Yeah, me too. But it's going to happen, we are two women with stressful jobs living in a really small space. We've just got to figure it all out."

"I can get rid of some shoes." Santana offers, and I shake my head, reaching out to take her hand, squeezing it tightly when I do. It's not about shoes or telescopes or giant fat cats that sometimes make her crazy (even though I know she's been holding _those _thoughts inside for my sake), it's about communication and respect, something we've both gotten better at over time, but could obviously still use some more work at. "And I really do want to know why you have your telescope here, I should have listened when you tried to tell me last night."

"It all feels kind of lame now, after we both overreacted and yelled at each other."

"I'm sure it's not, it never is with you, Brittany." She says softly, and carefully, I lean over to place the gentlest kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Well, remember how I used to always read that Orbiting Frog Blog?" I ask, and Santana nods, her eyes crinkling with a soft adoration. "I was really bored last week when you'd gone out to lunch with Rachel, and I figured I'd check it out, because as much as I love it here, sometimes I really do miss being able to just go outside and look at the stars whenever I feel like it. Anyway, there was a whole thing about how Venus is visible in the Northern sky, and I just _really_ wanted to see it with you."

"Britt, I'd _love _to see Venus with you. But how is it even possible?"

"I rented a car, for tonight. I figured we could drive out to Long Island, have some dinner, and then set up the telescope in the parking lot at Jones Beach. Since it's November, we'd probably be all by ourselves, and I don't know, I just thought it would be special and romantic." I shrug, like it's no big deal, even though it kind of _is, _and she drops her head against the back of the couch, releasing a deep sigh.

"That is." She chews on her bottom lip, and I bring my thumb up to brush there, always fearful that one day she'll chew that lip I love so much clean off with her nervous tic. When she stops, I kiss her again, this time a little bit harder, trying to keep her from dwelling, since I'm sure she'll probably replay our argument in her head a thousand times. It's one of those things I know other people don't understand about Santana, that she might get riled up sometimes, and try to bite hard, but in the end, she's always the one who hurts the most, her guilt consuming her, and it's always been my endeavor to help her move past things more quickly, to not cry over spilled milk, but to clean it up and forget about it, for lack of a better metaphor.

"I still want to go, if you want to come with me."

"I do." I watch her eyes light up, forgiving herself a little more, now that nothing is ruined. "But Britt, do you have any idea how we're going to get the telescope down the stairs?"

"We'll make it happen." I laugh. "Don't we always manage the impossible?"

"Yeah." She smiles, and I see her dimples for the first time of the day. "We definitely do."

It's hours later, after we've spent most of the day at the laundromat on the corner (our method for getting the bags of clothing down the stairs- throwing them), changing sheets, and cleaning up a week's worth of mess in the apartment, when I walk over to pick up the rental car, leaving Santana to put away the remainder of the laundry. When I double park the green Subaru in front of our building, I hear Santana whistle from the apartment window, and we share a laugh, even though we're separated by sixty vertical feet. There's something so domestic about a station wagon, more domestic even than sharing an apartment, and when I shove the keys in my back pocket and make my way up the stairs, I'm pretty sure Santana is thinking exactly the same thing, thinking about all the years of our future that we'll share.

Getting the telescope down the stairs isn't impossible, but it's _definitely _a struggle, both of us wrapping our arms around a side and trying our hardest not to drop it. At each floor, we rest, and I lean over to kiss Santana, because I'm _sure _she's fighting her inclination towards cursing and complaining, like she always does when hard manual labor is involved, and _especially_ after the telescope almost crushed her when we were barely out the door. I'm so thankful that she _doesn__'__t _though, so thankful that even though she _hates _this process, she's excited enough about what it precedes that she doesn't mutter a single _fuck, _until _I _do, on the second floor, and we both burst out in hysterical laughter. It's another ten minutes before we figure out how to fold the backseat down flat, and hoist the telescope in, cradling it with the blankets she'd grabbed, thoughtfully considering what would happen if it jostled too much while driving, and then settling ourselves in the front. As soon as I turn the key in the ignition, she puts her hand palm up on the center console, a silent offering for me to hold it, and smiling at the giddy expression on her face, I lay mine on top of hers, letting her weave our fingers together.

It's reminiscent of a previous life, our drive over the Williamsburg Bridge and away from the bright lights of the city, and I can't help but steal glances over at Santana, who doesn't take her eyes off of me for an instant. Occasionally, she brings the back of my hand to her lips and kisses me there, or gives me an affectionate smile, but mostly she just watches me, and mostly we're just quiet. We have dinner at some Italian restaurant in a town that's named after Native Americans (apparently a lot of the towns on Long Island are, and Santana and I laugh at each other trying to sound out the unfamiliar words), and then we follow the directions on the GPS down Ocean Parkway and over two bridges. Santana rolls down her window in the darkness when we're close to the beach, and we breathe in the salty smell of seawater in the biting cold air. Like I'd expected, there is no one in the parking lot when we arrive after nine o'clock, and after slipping on gloves and scarves and buttoning coats, we emerge from the car and look up at the expanse of blackness, hearing the roar of the unseen ocean in the background.

"Wow." Santana breathes, looping her arm through mine, hugging me from the side and standing on her tip toes to rest her chin on my shoulder. "I can't believe this is all here, less than an hour away from our apartment. It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful." I tell her playfully, but earnestly, and turn my head to catch her lips, the brightness of the waning moon reflecting in her eyes. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Thanks for planning it. Should we get out the telescope, or do you think it's going to try and murder me again?"

"I'll protect you from evil murdering optical instruments." I laugh, and pop the hatch of the car, temporarily detaching myself from Santana in order to get everything ready.

Once the two of us heft the telescope out of the car, Santana busies herself lying out a blanket on the concrete while I carefully clean the smudged lens and scan the sky with the finder scope, recalling the coordinates I read online. When I finally find the stratified planet, I do a small victory dance (exactly the same as the one I'd done when I'd successfully unwrapped the box) and feel Santana move to my side. Stepping back, I nudge Santana up to the real lens, wanting her to be the first to see it in it's fully magnified glory, and she shoots me a questioning look, making sure that it's really okay, and I promise her that it is, before pressing my front against her back and wrapping my arms around her waist. As she expertly adjusts the optics so she gets a clear view, she bounces a little on her toes, and I kiss the small patch of skin at the back of her neck, left exposed by her scarf, loving when she's like this, when she's entirely relaxed and herself.

"Brittany, look at it." She gasps, unabashed wonder in her voice, and I keep my arms around her as she tilts her head to the side to make room for me to look in.

As I take my first glimpse in the mirrored lens, and I stare at the planet filling up my entire view, I feel outrageously happy. That, combined with Santana in my arms, her breathing in my ear, playing with my fingers that fall to rest on her waist is almost too much for me to take, and I turn my head, just wanting to kiss her, to show her how much I love her. She doesn't hesitate to kiss me back, and it turns into sort of a game, alternating between kissing and taking turns looking into the telescope, the magic of the goddess of love exercising the full extent of her power. It goes on for the better part of an hour, until we finally have enough of viewing only a minuscule patch of sky, and I lie on my back on the blanket, opening my arms for Santana to come lay with me. She immediately does, her head finding it's natural position in the crook of my neck, and her left leg draping over my right. Switching between looking at the sense of awe on her face, and the view that's causing it, I kiss the top of her head and feel her snuggle further into my body as the air grows colder.

"The last time I saw Venus was right after we broke up." I confess quietly, my eyes darting over to look at the North Star. "I sort of felt like the universe was mocking me, and I was afraid I'd never get to do this with you again. This is one of my favorite things."

"Mine too. You're my constant, you know, Britt, even more than the stars and the planets."

"Well I hope more than the planets, because they got rid of Pluto for no good reason, and you won't get rid of me that easily." I laugh, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her playful eye roll.

"Shut up, you know what I mean." She turns her head to look at me, wrinkling her nose.

"I do. You're mine too, Santana."

We lay there for a long time, just watching the vast expanse of space above us, and trading soft kisses back and forth, one pair of gloved hands resting on her hip bone, the other resting just below my ribs. It's Santana who sees the first star fall, and she nearly jumps up at the thrill, until another falls, followed by a dozen more. In my reading about Venus, I hadn't seen anything about a meteor shower, and part of me wonders if it's something special, just for us. Turning on my side, Santana follows suit, and she presses her forehead to mine, letting our noses and lips brush together.

"I have nothing to wish for." Santana murmurs, the corners of her mouth turning up as she speaks. "I used to wish on every shooting star for a future with you, and now that future is here, and I know it's forever."

"We can still make wishes. Our forever is just getting started." I stare at her adoringly, her face framed in dim starlight, and I press the back of her hand to my heart. "Let's make one together."

"But how? You're the one who told me you can _never _speak a wish out loud, no matter what." She scrunches up her forehead, and I'm sure the degree of seriousness on her face will make me melt completely.

"We don't need to. I'm sure we'll make the same one without ever talking about it. We're sort of magical like that." I bring my thumb up and caress underneath her eyes, smiling as they flutter. "Close your eyes."

As her eyes quickly snap shut, I can't help but kiss each of her lids before I close my own. Focusing on the quickening beat of her heart (which makes me believe that she really _does_ take this even more seriously than I do), I imagine every shooting star we've ever seen together, and every one we'll see in the future. I imagine white dresses on some far off starry night, I imagine pointing out the constellations to a wide eyed, brunette child who can't sit still long enough to focus on them, I imagine wrinkled hands clasped together, and I imagine a hundred thousand kisses. _I wish that we__'__ll always be as happy as we are in this moment, _I silently tell the universe, and I'm not surprised in the slightest when Santana opens her eyes at exactly the same time I do.

"Cool, huh?" I wink, and she just nods, her eyes brimming with emotion.

My lips move to hers again, and there's more of a fervor behind the kiss than there's been in the saccharine ones we've shared all night. She fists the lapels of my coat, like she's anchoring herself to me, and as my right hand snakes up under the layers of clothing she wears, the warmth of her skin burns straight through my rainbow striped glove. She rolls on her back, pulling me on top of her, and still kissing her, I brush my fingers through the long locks of dark hair that spread out beneath her. She's gorgeous, she really is, and I know I'll _never _stop thinking that in any given moment, she's more so than I've ever seen her. Tugging free the knot in her scarf, I let my lips find the hammering pulse in her neck, relishing in every single beat of her heart that I feel beneath them. My desire for her intensifies, and briefly, I consider taking her immediately, consider undressing her and worshipping every inch of the body that's more beautiful than any goddess, love or otherwise, right in the middle of the vast, empty asphalt lot. My thoughts of that are disrupted though, when the tip of her nose grazes my forehead, cold against me, and I'm reminded of the bitter air that surrounds us, reminded that undressing in thirty-one degree weather will more than likely land both of us in the hospital with hypothermia, and that is _not _how I want the night to end.

As I make to stand up, Santana instinctively knows what I'm doing, and her arms reposition themselves around my neck as her legs lock around my waist. I kiss her mouth again before I manage to get both of us upright, and I hold her steady with one hand as I pop the hatch and try to spread out the bunched up blanket we'd left there with the other. We're both giggling when I try to duck us into the car, and I don't even stop as I smack my head against metal trying to get the keys in the ignition so I can get the heater on, and I see a _different _kind of stars. She fusses over me, kissing a non-existent bump, but when my fingers begin working the buttons of her coat, she realizes that I'm perfectly fine, and quickly shrugs the garment off her shoulders.

We take our time undressing each other, peeling gloves from hands, boots from feet, sweaters over heads, leg warmers from arms (or calves, in Santana's case, since she'd snatched up a pair of mine to be used for their _official _purpose, over her tight jeans), until we're left entirely naked, flushed skin pressed to flushed skin. It's dark, much darker than it ever gets in the city, where everything seems to be constantly abuzz, but my eyes are still able to map Santana's body, bare and wanting below mine. When she places her hand on the back of my neck and draws me in for a kiss, somehow deeper than all the others we've shared in the undressing process, I feel myself getting breathless, but still can't help but search her mouth for _more. _When I break the kiss, I prop myself up on both elbows, and can only bear to watch her chest heave for an instant before I need my hands on her.

"Fuck!" She hisses, when I pinch a nipple between my fingers, and as soon as I take the other in my mouth, she arches up.

"Patience, sweetheart." I smile into her skin, and I pin her hands above her head, wanting her to relax and let me take care of her. She pretends to pout a little, even though her eyes tell a completely different story. Truth be told, _nothing _turns me on more than her unabashed want, and I eagerly comply to her desire, alternating attention between each breast, tracing my tongue in the valley between them.

When I know she's had enough, I bring my lips back to hers, sucking her tongue into my mouth, swallowing her desperate moans while my fingers begin a trail down her body. She rocks up into me, and I feel the flood of my own arousal between my legs as I tenderly trace my thumb over her ribs, down the perfect, taut skin of her stomach and to the place she's throbbing. An appreciative hum escapes my lips as I make my first contact with her wetness, and I tease her, drawing quick, tight circles against her, before dipping just the very tip of one finger into her entrance. Her teeth scrape against my collarbone, and every whimper and moan spurs me further on. When I feel her trembling, and I'm sure that prolonging the build up any further might possibly leave her hysterical, I enter her with two fingers, slowly curling them as I gasp into the rough, desperate kiss she gives me, _needing _to feel her fall apart. When her head falls back against the rumpled blanket beneath her, I find her pulse point again, sucking there the way I know she likes it, and shivering when her hard nipples graze against mine.

"Britt, please." She begs, and I redouble my effort to coax her over the edge, pumping harder into her, letting my thumb work faster against her bundle of nerves. "So...ugh."

"Let go." I breathe into her ear, before kissing her sensitive spot below it, and then I whisper the words that never fail to make her release her last vestige of control. "I've got you, honey. I've got you."

She can't help but bury her face in my neck as she falls apart, cursing and crying out my name, and I feel her tears of relief hot against my skin. I release her hands and let my arm curl around her back, and as I slowly continue working my fingers inside of her, easing her through her orgasm, I hold her close to me, murmuring soft words of love into her hair. She replies to each one against my skin, and I feel another overwhelming surge of adoration for her, the same one that comes every time she falls into this relaxed state of bliss. Momentarily, I forget my own aching need as I get lost in the feelings, but when I slide my hand out from between her legs, so careful with her, because I know she's sensitive and vulnerable, she looks into my eyes, her blown pupils burning as they pierce into me. She blushes furiously, getting shy, like she always does after, remembering how hard she came on my fingers, how she writhed beneath me, biting at my skin, asking for exactly what she wanted, and I kiss every inch of her beautiful face, so enamored with just how sweet she really is. Her mushy state is short lived though, as a filthy smirk takes over her face, and an almost imperceptible arch of her left eyebrow amps my arousal back up about a thousand percent.

"I love you so much." The words fall from her lips as her small hands grip at my hipbones, and mustering all the strength in her weakened limbs, she manages to manipulate me so I'm flat on my back, and I comply, spreading my legs for her.

She knows that I'm ready, so ready, like I always am for Santana, and she's eager to touch, to taste, to please. Her hands find my chest, already sensitive from hers rubbing against it, and she looks at me, always unsure whether to watch my body react or my face. She settles for _feeling _the reactions of my body, her smirk growing wider the harder my nipples get, and with her elbows, she shimmies herself so she's flat on her stomach, one leg kicked up behind her, the other foot pressed against a steamed window. Santana levels her face with my center, and I reach down to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear, gently rubbing my thumb where that ear meets her face, and letting the rest of my hand cradle the back of her head. When her eyes flicker back up to mine, the smirk is gone, and a tender, adoring smile remains in its place. _Hey pretty girl, _I mouth to her, and she laughs, because she knows I love telling her how beautiful she is at any given time, and the sound reverberates through my entire body, causing me to involuntarily cant my hips up.

"Now who's impatient?" She teases, but doesn't hesitate to lick straight through me, that magical tongue of hers causing my whole body to erupt in goosebumps that are definitely _not_ from the cold.

Santana works me up so slowly and expertly that I feel every cell in my body smolder with intense heat, preparing to burst into flames. Every twist of her tongue, every suck of her lips brings me closer and closer, and my head, spinning from the sensations, feels heavy, the back of my hand falling to my forehead like some swooning damsel in a cheesy romance novel. I'm sure I'm tugging at her hair, because I just can't control myself, but it only spurs her further on, working herself deeper inside of me, feeling how close I am to coming undone. As my vision begins to white out, like a thousand bright stars falling all at once, I feel Santana replace her tongue with her fingers, stopping to kiss my hipbone before wrapping her lips around my clit, letting her fingers continue to work themselves in and out of me, building up a _second _orgasm before I even stop coming the first time. I'm spent when my body finally stops convulsing, the slightest tremors still coursing through every nerve ending, and Santana kisses her way back up my body, until she lies flat on top of me, and I lazily kiss her lips, sparking again at the taste of myself on her.

"I think you killed me." I tell her, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "Are we in Heaven? Because there are stars, and you look like an angel."

"Ooh, cheesy Britt is here, my favorite." Her breathy laugh fills my ears, and I somehow manage to lift up my arms and wrap them around her, holding her tight. "We've totally figured out the reason why lesbians drive Subarus though. Lots of room for all this."

"Is that an actual stereotype, or one that you made up?" I laugh, feeling myself revive a little at her goofiness.

"Hey, I'm getting better." She huffs, and I kiss her again.

"Yeah, _after _Mercedes stopped wearing eyeliner because you told her she'd be more likely to find a girl than a guy." I roll my eyes, even though I actually think it's _hilarious _that she just makes things up as she goes along and everyone believes her. "And if awesome sex in a hatchback _is_ the reason all these alleged lady lovers want one of these, I'll totally buy you one some day,"

"It's basically bigger than our apartment anyway."

"I love our small apartment, you know. It's ours, and even if we can't fit a lot of stuff inside, we _can _fit the important things." I rub her lower back, and she drops her head down to rest on my shoulder, our hearts beating in sync as they lie pressed together.

"Well I think the telescope can move up onto the important list."

"Yeah?"

"Totally. We don't need a coffee table when we've got the ironing board, and having a good reason to escape the craziness of the city seems like the type of idea only my favorite genius could come up with."

"I _am _good like that. Although not as good as Venus, obviously. She was pretty successful at her job tonight, I'd say." I smirk and gesture to our naked bodies, causing Santana to laugh so hard both of our bodies vibrate with it.

Eventually, we both move to get dressed, and forgoing our layers, since we know we'll be back in the warm car soon enough, we climb out of the back. Taking one last glimpse at the sky above us, and one last listen at the sound of the ocean lapping the shore, we load the telescope back in, and Santana catches me staring at her as she handles it with much more reverence than she had earlier in the night. I wave off her offers to drive home, because I know her, and I know that her eyes are _already _fighting to stay open. We're barely back onto mainland Long Island before she's sound asleep, snoring softly (which she will deny vehemently, even with video evidence) with her head on my shoulder. Never taking my eyes off the road, I kiss her temple and drape my arm over her, holding her close to me.

"I love you, my True North, more than there are stars in the sky." I whisper, and even in sleep, I know she hears me, I know she knows.


End file.
